Your Eyes
by bucklind17
Summary: Rent-fic...As Roger loses another love, he begins to see that doesn't have to forget...first of many parts...I finally updated!
1. Goodbye Love

youreyes1 Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They're all Jonathan Larson's. I'm just playing with them. Any song lyrics are also his (although some have an added word or two!).   
Note: I know the narration is confusing, but just to clear it up, it alternates. If you ever read the book The Pigman, it's like that. The same person narrates every other segment. I'm just stuck on first person narration.   
Rated: PG-13 for language, subject matter, angst (gotta love the angst!).   
  


I hold her hand as she sleeps. I have this feeling deep in me that this is it. I'm relieved in a way, just because she's been so sick these last few days. There really isn't much good in her struggling to live if she's just going to die anyway. I realize how awful that sounds and remind myself I need to justify her death somehow. It seems so pointless to me. I finger her hands and cringe as she coughs, the sound hollow and deep. Her beautiful eyes open and I find the effort to smile for her. She smiles back, her muscles so weak that it barely moves her lips. I know it isn't going to be much longer.   
"I….I love you…" she whispers. I feel my eyes well up at the possibility that this is the last time I will ever have the chance to hear this from her, and I brush my fingers over her cheek.   
"I know, baby. I love you too," I say softly. Tears start to run down her cheeks. I can't stop mine either, despite the practice I've had ever since she's entered the hospital.   
"I know….I…I can see it…in your…eyes," she says with a smile. I hold back a sob and kiss her on the lips. I feel her kiss back, probably with the last of her strength.   
"Go ahead, baby. Go towards the light, don't let Angel stop you this time," I say. I'm crying hard now, but I can't stop myself. "Remind her we miss her down here." She nods.   
"Goodbye, love," she whispers. Her eyes close and her hand turns limp in my grasp.   
"Goodbye, love," I sob back. I push her curls back from her forehead and kiss it. I sit in the chair for a minute, letting the tears leave me freely. My shoulders shake and I hold my head in my hands, feeling weaker than I've ever felt in my life. I stand up, still sobbing and open the door to the hallway, where my friends are waiting. Maureen bursts into tears just looking at me. Everyone else looks devastated.   
"That's it?" Collins asks gently.   
"That's it," I say. "Mimi's gone."   


I think it was just automatic for us to go to the Life Café. It's a pretty ironic place to go after a funeral, but I don't think we knew where else to go. The place wasn't the same after Angel died, and it certainly wasn't the same now. How can you sit at a place that used to be filled with people who loved living and actually have a good time?   
Today's not supposed to be good. It doesn't matter that Mimi was finally relieved from her suffering. She's gone. It reminds me of a song we used to sing at camp when I was little. "Seven bullfrogs sitting on a log, one jumps in and then there were six…Six bullfrogs sitting on a log, one jumps in…" And then there were five. Collins and Roger, who would be the next to go. There is no way of knowing who will go first or when, but I'm already dreading the day. Maureen and Joanne, who may outlive us all, but who have already lost parts of themselves with each death. I fear Maureen may be completely gone by the time the three of us are left. And then there's me.   
Maureen, Joanne and I get a table as Collins and Roger pay the cabbie. I look out the window and see the two of them talking, Collins with his hands. He gives Roger a sad smile and bear hug and Roger walks away, his shoulders slumped. Collins comes over to the table.   
"Roger said he's going back to loft to think. He doesn't feel like talking, that's completely understandable," Collins says.   
"Yeah…" Maureen trails off. "God, I can't believe he made it through that song. I would have been a mess."   
"You were a mess," I remind her with a sad smile. She gives me a look and then starts to laugh softly.   
"I know," she says. "I know, Jesus…" Roger had asked all four of us to speak at the service. Maureen had gone first and burst into tears within the first minute. Joanne remained solemn and cried afterwards. Collins and I both tried to remember Mimi's life instead of her death, but we couldn't help the sadness in our voices. Roger had sung his song for her. The song that he wrote after a year of trying. He had been singing it to her when she died for the first time and he sang it again. His voice hadn't cracked once as he sang the beautiful song, and when he ended it, he had whispered, "I love you, Mimi," and that had been it. No tears, just a constant emptiness and sadness in his voice. I couldn't keep my eyes off him for the rest of the service, I was just waiting for him to crumble again like he did when he came out of the hospital room, but he didn't. I have this fear that he isn't going to again, and I can't help but dread that's the case. When April killed herself, he completely shut down, and it's not good for him. If there's anything I've been telling Roger for as long as I've known him, it's that he needs to let his emotions out.   
"God, I just can't believe this," Collins whispers. "And to think it's still going to go downhill from here."   
"Collins, don't say that," Maureen says. "You and Roger are still really healthy. You've got a lot of time ahead of you."   
"Yeah, but I still have those days when I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. It's been almost a year since I've lost Angel and I'm not close to getting over it," he says, his voice deep and sad. It surprises me a little, because he's always so upbeat. He knows that Angel would hate for him to be depressed and missing him all the time, and Collins does a pretty good job of going on with his life. I know it's hard for him, but he makes it hard to believe. He looks down at the table and then back up at us. "I'm going back to the loft. Roger shouldn't be alone right now."   
"Collins, he said he needed to be alone," Joanne reminds him gently.   
"Yeah, and all I'm thinking about is the thing I had to stop myself from doing God knows how many times after Angel died." My eyes widen and I jump up from my chair.   
"I'm coming with you!" I exclaim. Collins shakes his head slightly.   
"He doesn't need to poked at. He doesn't need to be talked to. I just don't want him to be alone. I'll be fine," he says.   
"No. I'm coming," I say, a tone of confidence in my voice.   
"We're just going to go home, then," Joanne says. "We'll call later to see how things are going."   
"Okay," Collins says. He hands me my coat and we leave the Life Café, headed for the loft. 

I sit staring at the wall of the loft. My eyes are focused on a series of cracks that climb from the ceiling to the floor. On rainy days, water spurts from them. Not a lot of water, just enough to make the floor a little slippery. Enough to remind us that we still live in this crappy apartment.   
I look at my hands, calloused from years of guitar playing. My guitar sits in the corner, collecting dust. I notice that I haven't played it for at least two weeks, when everything started. I spent every waking moment at the hospital. I had no time for anything or anyone else. My heart feels empty. My eyes feel tight. My throat feels dry. It feels like my body is shutting down around me.   
No! It can't! I can't shut down this time! I always do that, I always shut out the world around me when I get hurt, and I can't do it anymore, because it always comes back to bite me. It makes people worry about me and watch me constantly. I stand up and start walking toward the kitchen. I look out the huge window and stare at the building next door. I turn the water on and start running my hands underneath, the water soothing and cooling. I splash my face and I start to scream. I scream because of the unfairness, I scream because of the pain, I scream because I can't believe I have to go through this again. I continue screaming as I grab a glass from the cabinet and throw it at the floor. It smashes to a million pieces, and I feel the tension leaving my body. I grab another and throw it at the wall. It chips the paint and breaks, this time into three big pieces. I laugh hysterically, as I grab another and another and keep throwing them at the wall, watching the glass shine in the sunlight streaming into the room. The pieces fly toward me, sometimes piercing my skin, but I don't care at all. The noise sounds great in my ears, the way a new song sounds right after I finish writing it. I think of the first song that started me on the writing spree that landed me a record deal and I scream the lyrics, hating and loving the song at the same time.   
"Your eyes!" I scream. "As we said our goodbyes! Can't get them out of my MIND! When I see MOONLIGHT I see your fuckin' EYES!" Her eyes, her whole face, they all materialize in front of me, and before I know it, I'm slumped on the floor, in a helpless torrent of tears.   


Collins and I start up the stairs, our footsteps heavy. I realize for the umpteenth time that someday I'm going to be coming home from something like this alone. Instead of letting it get me, I am grateful Collins is still around and here with me. The door to the loft is unlocked and I open it carefully. The quietness of the loft grabs me. Collins walks into the kitchen area and I hear crunching beneath his feet.   
"Mark? Maybe you should come here," he calmly calls. I go toward him, and feel my heart sink.   
"Oh my God," I whisper. I bend down and finger a piece of the glass lying on the floor. Collins carefully lifts another piece, which is covered in blood. "Oh, Jesus….you don't…" I start to say, but I can't. I would never be able to live with myself. My voice is caught in my throat. I reach out for the piece of glass but Collins stops me.   
"Don't touch it!" he says strongly. Right. I always tend to forget that I don't have what they have, that it's yet another reason I'm separated from them. "He has to be here somewhere. Let's not lose it yet."   
"Roger! Roger, are you here?" I yell out, my voice shaking. I walk into his room, afraid of what I might see. He's standing in front of the closet, his dress shirt untucked, his tie undone and hanging around his neck. He is staring at the clothes, and I quickly notice why. All of her stuff is in there; everything that is Mimi is in there. "Roger?"   
He turns his head towards mine, and I see a broken man. His eyes are red, his face stained with tears.   
"What am I going to do with it all, Mark?" He looks at me desperately and I walk toward him. I place my hands gently on his shoulders and he tenses. I step back slightly, carefully being sure not to be too invasive.   
"I don't know," I say.   
"How can something so inevitable hurt so much?" he asks. He looks at me again, and this time he moves closer to me. I feel my arms go around him, and he collapses in them. He doesn't cry, he just rests his head on my shoulder, slumped because he's taller than me. I put my arms around him tightly.   
"I don't know that either. You'll get through it, though. I'm here for you, I promise you that, I'm here," I say.   


I smile. I laugh. I even make conversation. To all outsiders, I am a happy man. A man ready to start again, for the third time in my short twenty-five years. But I'm dead inside. I vowed to myself, and to Mimi, that I would not fall apart when she was gone. I told myself that I had to keep going, that I had to live life and take advantage of the time I have. I knew how hard it would be, being that I've been in the situation before, but I promised anyway, just because I didn't think I could bear going through the hell I went through after April died again.   
Now, there's also the whole record deal. I had sent a tape a few weeks before Mimi had died, a tape full of songs that had just flowed out of me, as if the months of writer's block was all coming out in one big spurt. Most of them were about her, because I hadn't felt so good or happy since God knows when. The guys I sent it to liked the songs a lot. They're an independent label, but it's still the outlet I've always been looking for. I don't know if I'm going to be able to do it anymore. I mean, the songs are about this beautiful, wonderful woman who made me love the life I was living, and now she's gone. How am I supposed to go into a studio and record those songs with the feeling I once had, the feeling that only she could give me? I don't think I can.   
"Hey," the familiar nasal voice says as the door to the loft opens.   
"Hey," I reply. I look up and see Mark enter into the kitchen with a bag of groceries. He unpacks it and puts the few items into the empty cabinets.   
"Have you done anything today?" he asks.   
"Um, I fiddled around with the guitar a little," I say. I know he's making sure that I'm not sitting at home, wallowing in my loss.   
"Oh yeah? When's that meeting with the studio guys?"   
"Next week. But I'm not sure I'm going to be able to go," I say. Mark turns around and stares at me.   
"Why not?" he demands.   
"I'm not sure that I'll be able to do it. I wrote all those songs when Mimi was still alive. I don't know that I'll be able to sing them as if she still is."   
"Roger, no one is asking you to deny her death. I know it's hard…"   
"No you don't. You don't have a clue," I say. The words leave my mouth on their own, and Mark is obviously shocked by them.   
"Look, I know that she wasn't as much to me as she was to you, but Mimi was my friend. And I loved her and I miss her too. It's not easy for me either. But you have to go on with your life."   
"You should talk," I say.   
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not the one sitting here turning down the best chance I've ever had! You can make it, Roger! You can get everything you've wanted!" Mark exclaims, his hands in the air.   
"Don't you understand that it won't MEAN anything? Mimi is DEAD, Mark! She's everything I want, not some worthless record deal! It all means nothing without her!"   
"How can you say that?" Mark whispers. "How can you say that when you know that Mimi is the reason you have this chance? How can you just pass it up like this?"   
"I don't need this right now," I say. I don't blow up at him, I just calmly stand and start out the door.   
"Well, Roger's back to being depressed and walking away from the situation!"   
"Fuck you, Mark," I say coldly.   
"Right! Fuck me! Fuck me! This has NOTHING to do with you!" I let him go off on himself as I walk out the door. I run down the stairs without even a second glance at Mimi's old apartment.   


  



	2. Without You

youreyes2 OK, here is the second part. Again, characters belong to Jonathan Larson, Roger's song lyrics are also written by him. Please read and review this for me, I'm kind of apprehensive about the way this is going. I don't feel like Roger is coming out right, so let me know what you think of him and Mark. There may be some editing of this part. 

I watch as Roger calmly walks out the door. I want to follow him and throw him up against the wall and make him see how irrational he is being. I want to take that stubborn mind of his and screw around with it. I want to make him… I want to make him think like me. I've always wanted him to think like me. Is that it? Is that why I worry about him so much? Because he deals with things so differently than me, and I can't accept that? Why do I spend so much time worrying about him when my own life is so far from perfect? I realize that I would never be able to throw Roger up against a wall, and I'd never be able to mess with his head. Because that's his department. He has the power to do those things, but I'm just weak. I realize that I would love for the situation to be reversed, for me to be Roger and Roger to be me, because then I would be able to stand up to him. He'd be the weak one for a change, but that's not the case, it's never been the case and it will never be the case. I'm the one that's easy to deal with, easy to upset, easy to use. Roger knows that he would be up the creek now if it weren't for my constant mothering right after April died. Or would he? Do I make myself believe that so I feel like I'm needed in at least one person's life? Would Roger have made it without me?   
I let the questions go. It hurts me to think that Roger doesn't need me, because I do need him, if only for someone to call a best friend. I can't help but wonder why we are best friends, or if he ever refers to me as his best friend. I do because I live with him, and basically, my life revolves around him. When he's depressed, my time is spent trying to cheer him up, making sure he doesn't kill himself, making sure he eats, sleeps and showers. When he's happy, and that's rare, my time is spent making sure he stays that way. Roger is my best friend because sometimes he's all I have, and yet there are the times when I don't even have him. We are as different as two people can get, and yet I can't think of anyone else I'd rather consider my best friend. If someone asked me why he was my best friend, I doubt I'd be able to give a worthy answer. I was always the one with the friends who were nothing like me. Ever since I was little, I've clung onto my friends, depended on them to keep me from being alone. I know that there are a lot of friend-like qualities that Roger is lacking, and that most of the time he only hurts me, and half the time I still feel alone, but I can't imagine my life without him.   
I walk into Roger's room. Not much has changed since Mimi died. All of her clothes are still in the closet, the way they were the day of the funeral when I found Roger staring at them, distraught. Her perfume bottles are still on his dresser, her jewelry littered in front of the mirror. It looks like the room of a couple in love, a couple who aren't quite far enough to get married, but close enough to it to live together. Mimi didn't have far to move and Mimi wouldn't have far to go in the morning, but she still moved all of her stuff up here. She wanted to be with him and he wanted to be with her. They completed each other.   
Roger is doing a lot better. I know that, if even by the way he reacted to my demand a little while ago. A few months ago, he would have blown up, possibly even threatened to hit me. It may not have even been a threat, he's gone as far as to punch me in the face on a couple of occasions. Today, he was able to calmly walk away because he's not bottling up his emotion. There is not this huge surge of emotion waiting to burst out at the slightest provocation. He has never cried in front of me, but there have been times when I've walked in on him, softly playing the guitar, tears on his cheeks. He'd quickly brush them away and sit up, clear his throat and greet me in some way. Then he'd leave the room or start playing louder, as if to cover it up. I wanted him to talk to me, but it relieved me to know that at least he allowed himself to cry.   
I see a cassette tape lying on his unmade bed. I have half a mind to pop it into the tape player. I've heard Roger's songs plenty of times before, in every stage of development. But he wrote these ones so fast, I can barely even remember what they sound like. I finger the tape, knowing I shouldn't, knowing it's like peeking into his diary. It's like sneaking into his heart and soul. I'm not sneaky or conniving, but it hurts that he doesn't talk to me. It hurts that he doesn't see that I'm here for him.   
My curiosity gets the better of me and I stick the tape in the player quickly, as if doing it fast makes it less of a violation. There's static, then the sound of a guitar tuning.   
"I know I have to do this. I feel like this chance was given to me for a reason…it would have been so much easier if Mimi was still here with me…." Roger's voice comes out. I close the door to his room and sit on the bed. "But she isn't. So, I have to do this by myself now." He starts to play an intricate melody, his strong voice singing lyrics. "Without you, the eyes gaze, the legs walk, the lungs breathe…" His voice is haunting; it's power carrying the words beyond their meaning. The guitar stops suddenly and I hear his breath. He sighs sadly and for a minute, there is nothing. "How'd I let you slip away…when I'm longing so to hold you!" he cries out. I can tell he is crying as he sings, his voice sweet and sad. "Now I'd die for one more day, because there's something I should have told you…" The words stop, all I can hear are sobs and sniffles. "God, Mimi! I can't do it! I can't do it without you! I can't…I can't do this alone…" he trails off and the tape stops. I sit for a minute, somewhat shocked by the sound of his voice as he said those last few words. Alone. He can't do it alone.   


I find myself wandering aimlessly down Avenue B. The air is a bit chilly, but it's not exactly cold, so the coat I so perfectly left in the loft isn't missed too badly. I had to walk out. If I had stayed in that loft, I would have done something I would regret. He's always trying to be there for me, and he thinks I don't know that he's there, but I know. God, how can I not know? Every waking moment he's reminding me to do something. I don't know if he thinks I'm completely incompetent or what. I know I was in bad shape when April died, but there was a lot more to that than her death. Doesn't he realize that? Doesn't he see the difference?   
Of course I miss Mimi. She was the love of my life. Everything I ever wanted. I think it's ok to sit and be depressed every once in awhile because she shouldn't have died, not so soon. Just because I'm not talking all the time or just sitting and thinking doesn't mean I'm going to kill myself. Sometimes I have to think about her to keep from going crazy. Sometimes the pain is so bad that if I try and hide it, it eats at me and I lose it, and usually he's the victim. He should be glad I'm letting it out this time.   
I find myself at the Life Café and walk in. I'm short on money, because I'm not getting anything until I sign a contract, but I just need to sit and drink something.   
"Hey! Roger!" A bass voice calls. I turn and see Collins, sitting alone in a booth, a stack of papers sitting next to him. I don't really feel like talking, but I'm stuck. Collins doesn't take excuses.   
"Hey, Collins," I say, sitting myself across from him. "What are you up to?"   
"Midterms. The only aspect of traditional teaching I still go by. They all aced the Angel section!" He smiles broadly and takes a sip of his coffee.   
"You have questions on Angel in the midterm?" I ask incredulously.   
"Well, since I talk about her a lot in class, I need to make sure they are paying attention," he says. "Can I get you anything?"   
"I'm just going to get myself an iced tea," I say.   
"My treat," Collins says, not looking up from the paper he is correcting.   
"Nah, Collins, that's ok. I heard about the little incident at the Food Emporium, I know you're short on cash."   
"Roger," Collins says looking me in the eye. "I always find a way to get by. Now let me pay for your drink!" He laughs heartily, the deep sound vibrating the air. I can't help but chuckle with him and I know better than to ask just where the money is coming from this time.   
"How do you do it?" I ask him, shaking my head.   
"Do what?"   
"You're always so optimistic, so upbeat. How can you stay that way with everything you've lost?" I'm unable to lift my glance from the Formica tabletop. I'm afraid he's going to see into me, see the pain in my eyes and for some reason, it seems petty. He's lost just as much as I have. He's lost his lover, and he's lost his future, just like me. We make quite a pair, two HIV positive men mourning the losses of our HIV positive lovers.   
"Well, what's the point of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself when there's so much living to do? And so little time to do it, I might add." Most people would have seen the latter part as negative, but it seems to give Collins an extra boost.   
"I'm just…I'm having a little trouble getting it all out of my head. I need this record deal, I know that, but I can't do it without Mimi. She was my inspiration," I say. Collins looks up and focuses his deep brown eyes in mine.   
"Was? You mean, she's not an inspiration anymore?" I don't say anything, because I don't know what he's getting at. "Angel's my inspiration for living. I know she would hate for me to give up because of her. And I can't see myself ever losing that inspiration."   
"But doesn't it hurt?" I ask.   
"Of course it hurts. It hurts all the time. But I've learned to live with the pain. There's still so much for me here. I love watching my students' eyes light up when I tell them about Angel. I love being able to make a difference in their lives. I love giving myself a little hope for the future of this God damn country. I loved Angel more than anything, but to give up because she's gone…that's completely rejecting everything she gave to me while she was here."   
"Maybe Mark was right," I say.   
"You talked with Mark about this?"   
"We fought. He told me that these songs are the best way to keep Mimi alive. I just…I couldn't see that because she's what inspired me to write them in the first place. It's so hard to sing them without her here. I'm so used to that smiling face when a song is good or that funny grimace when it's bad." I laugh a little as an image of that face pops into my head. "The first time I sang them, it was full of this love for her. I don't know that I can do that again."   
"The love's still there, isn't it?"   
"Of course it is!" I say. I feel myself getting hot, but I remain calm.   
"Use it. Use Mimi and use your love for her to do this. I think…I think she wants this for you."   
"I guess so. I guess she really does. I should probably go apologize to Mark," I say standing up.   
"You didn't hit him, did you?" Collins asks with a grin.   
"You know me too well. Not this time," I say. "Thanks Collins."   
"Anytime. You know where to find me if you want to talk." I pat him on the back and walk out the door, back to the loft.   


I hear Roger's heavy footsteps come up the stairs. I continue digging through my box of film. I have this feeling of guilt in me, because I know I've done something I shouldn't have. The door to the loft flies open.   
"Mark, I'm sorry," he says right away. I turn to look at him. I acknowledge how popular he will be with the teenage girls if this record deal flies. He's got the eyes, the hair, the voice. That combined with those gorgeous songs, he has the potential to be huge.   
"Sorry for what?" I ask.   
"For being so stupid. I know I have to do this. It's not easy for me, but I'm going to do it. You were right."   
"Did Roger Davis just admit that he was wrong about something?" I ask. Roger glares at me, but his eyes are shining.   
"Don't push it, Mark," he says. "Am I forgiven?"   
"You are," I say. He grins and walks into his room. I find the film I was looking for and pull it from the box. I walk over to the projector and start to load it in as Roger walks out of his room. In his hand is the cassette tape. I feel my heart drop.   
"You listened to my tape," he says coolly.   
"What tape?" I ask stupidly, my focus on the projector.   
"Don't be dipshit, Mark. If you're going to be a fuckin' sneak, you should at least REWIND the thing!" Roger exclaims. I can tell his temper is building. I look at him guiltily. His blue eyes are full of anger, the veins in his arms bulging.   
"I just wanted to hear your songs," I say, my voice quivering.   
"Then you ask me, Mark! How would you like it if I just went through your box of film and watched them all without you knowing? There's some personal stuff on those films, right Mark? Stuff you wouldn't want anyone to see?"   
"Yes," I say, my voice almost a whisper.   
"I would like to know what gives you the right to just invade my life like you always do. I know you're here for me, you can stop shoving it down my throat!"   
"Roger…"   
"And you can definitely stop invading my privacy! That tape was MINE! You don't….you just don't do that!"   
"Well, maybe if you talked to me, I wouldn't have to!" I cry out.   
"Oh! Oh, I see. I didn't come to you, so you just do your research. I know how you think, Mark. You don't think I need you, you think I think I'm alone. I know I'm not alone, Mark. You know how? Because I talked with Collins today, and he was there for me. He was honest and he was caring, and he helped me without making me feel like he was better than me!"   
"Well, maybe he should be your best friend then!" I say. I feel tears coming and I try helplessly to stop them. "Maybe you should have him take care of you!"   
"Jesus, Mark! I need you, ok? I need you! I don't need you to watch me, I don't need you to take care of me and I don't need you to search my room from evidence of emotion! I just need you to CARE and I need you to be there when I'm ready to talk! I know I'm not good at showing my emotion. You think I like that? You're poking and prodding doesn't help. I know you're here, Mark, and I'm GLAD you've stood by me for so long. I'm glad you stuck with me even after all the shit I put you through. And I hope that someday you will see that you aren't alone, and you'll stop depending on me to keep you from being alone, but until that day comes, I'll still be here. Is that what you want to hear Mark? Is that what you need?" His voice is angry and gentle at the same time. The tears start to escape and my shoulders shake. I feel his arms come softly around my shoulders.   
"I feel so alone sometimes," I say. "Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one in the world."   
"I know," he says gently. "I feel it too. Especially now. And when I'm ready to really talk, you'll be the first one I come to to take that feeling away."   
"Really?" I ask with a smile. I look up at him.   
"Promise," he says back.   



	3. We're Okay

youreyes3 Disclaimer: Same as before, Jonathan's not mine.   
Please keep reading and reviewing if you don't mind. This part is a lot more fun. Some objectable language. :-)   


"Your eyes," I sing softly. "As we said our goodbyes….can't get them out of my mind." I close my eyes and for a minute, the beauty of the song takes me over. I think of how I sat in Santa Fe, truly alone for the first time in my life, although I had thought I was alone so many times before. I remember how the thoughts of Mimi got my through the few weeks I spent there, how so much in New Mexico reminded me of New York in the weirdest ways. I remember how Mimi's beauty called me home. "Where there's moonlight, I see your eyes."   
"Ok, Roger, this is sounding pretty good," Eric calls to me from behind the glass window. "I'm just thinking that it sounds a little too melancholy. Maybe you can get more of an edge in it?" Edge? This song doesn't HAVE edge, it's not supposed to have edge.   
"You mean you want me to kill it?" I ask calmly. I smile and Eric stares.   
"I wouldn't consider it that," he says.   
"I would," I reply with a sarcastic grin.   
"Look, Roger, I know they're your songs. But it's my label, and I want this album to sell for you. So, uh, what I say at least gets a try." I feel my fists clench at my sides and I start over.   
"Your EYES, when we said our good-by-eye-eyes, I can't get them OUT of my MIND," my voice is harsh, rough, growling.   
"Roger, cut the shit and sing the song," Eric says, not even bothering to look up   
"I tried that already, YOU didn't like it," I say. I shrug my shoulders. "I can't sing it any other way."   
"Well, you're gonna have to."   
"Do you know what it's like to lose the one person who completed everything you were? Do you know what it's like to have to be alone, living a life full of reminders, needing her more than ever, but knowing you'll never have her again? Do you KNOW what it's like to finally reach your dream because of her, and then have to keep going on without her? Do you KNOW what it's LIKE to have some fuckin' money-hungry prick telling you that the song YOU wrote about HER, the song that brings EVERYTHING about her back to you, is not RIGHT because it's not going to sell records?" I ask. At this point, I'm out in the control room and my face has found its way into Eric's. "Do you?"   
"No, Roger," he says. His eyes meet mine and for a second we stand there, staring at each other and I finally break away.   
"I didn't think so," I say coldly. "Now, I'm going in there and I'm singing that song the way it is meant to be sung. If you don't like it, you don't have to put it on the album. I'm not sure you're worth a song like this as it is." I storm back into the recording room. I stand in front of the boom mike and sing it the way I sang it at Mimi's funeral, barely able to contain myself toward the end. Missing her and dealing with the fact that this song is becoming material more than emotional, it got to me. I finished the song strong though, looked up and saw Eric nod slightly.   
"Ok, that's a wrap."   


"Ok, the letter for this round is…" I roll the big die and it tumbles off the table onto the floor. "E!"   
"Oh, good Lord, that letter is impossible!" Joanne exclaims, pushing up her reading glasses and looking down at her notepad. Collins sets the timer and the four of us start to scribble furiously. Maureen is done in less then a minute with a satisfied grin on her face, and I finish up as the timer ends.   
"Shit…" Collins mutters under his breath, still scribbling.   
"Collins, honey, time's up!" Maureen reminds him.   
"Yeah, yeah," he says, reluctantly putting his pencil down.   
"Ok, first one," Joanne says seriously. "Boys name. I put down Evan. Maureen?"   
"Ebeneezer! As in Scrooge," she says with a smile.   
"Ok, Mark?"   
"Eamon," I say, remembering my younger cousin who I was really close to growing up.   
"I like that one. Collins?"   
"I…uh…I couldn't think of one," he says quickly.   
"Right. Ok, number two. Street name. I had Elizabeth Dr., on which I grew up in Greenwich," Joanne explains. "Maureen?"   
"Eighth Avenue. As in New York City," she says sweetly. I roll my eyes as Joanne looks at me.   
"Easy Street!" I exclaim with a smile. She and Maureen crack up.   
"That's great! Collins?"   
"I…uh…I don't know what's wrong with me tonight…" I put my face in his and laugh unmercifully. He grabs a pillow and covers his face with it.   
"Oh, let me be! I hate the letter E!" he cries.   
"Ooh, Collins that rhymes! You're a poet and don't know it!" Maureen exclaims. Collins lifts the pillow from his face and shoves at Maureen.   
"Hey! HEY!" she shrieks, running from the couch. Collins jumps to his feet and chases her around the loft, her high soprano shrieking, his bass voice bellowing. I look at Joanne and we crack up.   
"What the hell is going on in here?" a rough voice asks. I look around to see Roger. We had been having so much fun, no one noticed he had entered the room.   
"Hey, Roger, what's up?" Maureen asks. Collins is stopped behind her, pillow just above her head. He is trying his hardest not to laugh.   
"Not too much. Seems like everyone's having fun," he says with a slight smile.   
"We're playing Scattergories," I say carefully. "Feel free to join us, I'm sure you'll do better than Collins."   
"Maybe later, I've had a long day at the studio. I just want to sit down a bit," he says, starting into his room.   
"Yeah, how'd that go?" I call after him.   
"Alright! The guy's a fuck, but other than that, I think I sounded good," he calls back. He shuts the door to the room and then opens it again, emerging in a pair of jean cut-offs and no shirt. Maureen purrs at him.   
"Pookie…" Joanne warns.   
"Maureen, you're a lesbian," Collins gently reminds her. "If anyone should be purring at that hunk of man, it should be me!" Maureen grabs the pillow from his grasp and whacks him over the head with it.   
"Ow!" Collins whimpers. He walks back over to the couch and sits himself down next to me. "Be my protector," he whispers in my ear. I laugh out loud and push him toward Joanne.   
"Oh, thanks!" Roger stalks toward us, slugging milk from the carton. He wipes his lips and sits down on the other side of me. "So, what's with this game?"   
"You've never played it?" I ask incredulously.   
"Nope," he says, picking up one of the question cards. "Four letter words? That should be easy! Fuck, shit, cock, dick, tush…"   
"TUSH?" Collins asks.   
"Yes, I heard it in a furniture commercial," Roger explains. "As in 'soft as a baby's tush'".   
"Collins, throw me the pillow!" I say.   
"Roge, you're in a good mood today," Maureen observes as Roger dodges the incoming pillow.   
"You know what, I am," he replies. "I am, because I stood up for myself today and it didn't include any bloodshed."   
"What happened?" Joanne asks, the lawyer in her picking up on any possible case.   
"This asswipe, Eric, he wanted me to change 'Your Eyes'. And I told him I can't do it. And I made him believe I can't change it. And I told him that the song isn't even worth getting him money. And he let me do it the way I wanted to."   
"What did he want you to do?" Collins ask.   
"Add edge. I told him no. It's Mimi. The song is Mimi. Killing that song is like killing everything she is to me. I told him no."   
"Well, good for you Roger," Maureen says with a smile. "I can't wait to hear this album, I really can't."   
"Well, the hardest part is over. It'll all be easy from here on in." Roger grins and takes another swig from the milk carton. He grabs the die and rolls it. "K!" Collins moans.   
"NO…NOT K!"   



	4. Never Make Me Cry

youreyes4 Yeah, I'm digging this story up after six months. I decided I still like it and had some new ideas for it, so here it is, once again.   
New disclaimer: Besides the characters being Jonathan's, the song "Rhyme and Reason" is Adam Pascal's. "Never Make Me Cry" is Fleetwood Mac's, written by the beautiful Christine McVie. I don't know much about the record industry, if that isn't obvious, so I'm kinda pulling stuff out of nowhere for that part. Please read and review…I really want to know what people think about the last section…   
  
"Alright, we'll see you soon," I hear Mark say as he leads Maureen and Joanne out of the loft. He walks back toward the couch, hands in his pockets. "Well, that was fun."   
"Yeah, I had a good time," I say absentmindedly, focusing on my guitar again, fine-picking one of my newer songs.   
"Things really went ok today?" Mark asks, sitting down next to me. I notice he's worried again, he's trying again, and because I'm in a good mood, I humor him.   
"Things really did go well," I say, looking into his eyes, silencing my guitar. "It's a bitch to have to fight to do it the way I want, but it's a worthy fight."   
"I would think so," Mark says. We sit quietly for a minute, and I start playing again, singing under my breath.   
"It's ok…to realize…brought into nothing, no one and nowhere, it's all a surprise," my voice sounds great, and I'm excited about this song, probably more than any of the others on the album. I love "Your Eyes" but it makes me weary knowing that I may be hearing it over and over, or singing to a bunch of screaming teenagers. I can't help but wonder if I really want to do that with that song. I wonder if completely changing it may be a way of keeping it sacred. The song I sang to Mimi can be a completely different entity of it. "Cause love don't need a reason, and love don't need a rhyme, I'm standing here pleading, while you discover you're right…yeah yeah yeah…oh oh oh…"   
"That song is great," Mark says, his camera focused on me.   
"Thanks."   
"Is it going on the album?"   
"Most definitely! I think it's my favorite," I say with a grin.   
"You know, you really are talented, Roger," Mark says sheepishly, his face hidden behind the omnipresent camera. "During that whole time after April died, I was so worried that you were never going to realize that or act upon it. I'm so glad you're finally seeing it."   
"So am I. So, you worried about that too?"   
"I worried about everything," he admits. "I can't help it, Roger. I know it annoys you, but I can't help it."   
"Hey, there were times I worried about you too," I say, still playing the chords to the song in tempo. Mark pulls the camera away from his face and looks at me.   
"Really? When? Why?" he asks. I can tell he is surprised I'm admitting this, but he's relieved at the same time. He thinks I never noticed that he doubted our friendship but I noticed. Sometimes I made myself believe I was glad he doubted it, but deep down I wanted to prove to him how strong it was.   
"Right after we met Angel, for the most part. I mean we were all together, and loving each other, but we also had our own little relationships within the family. Maureen had Joanne, Collins had Angel, I had Mimi and you had no one. And I KNEW you saw it that way. You saw that we all had each other and you had no one, and I KNEW you felt so alone. And I worried that you'd never stop feeling that way, even though we were all there for you."   
"I did feel that way," Mark says sitting down next to me, the camera lying forgotten on the table. "I still feel that way."   
"And I still worry about it. I worry that you're never going to see how much you mean to everyone. Yes, I admit it Mark, I'd be dead without you. I swore to myself months ago that I would never admit that, but I do. And I can tell you right now that Maureen would be lost if you weren't still in her life. Joanne has gained a great friend in you. And Collins still goes to you when he doesn't know what to do with everything," I say.   
"This songwriting is good for you," Mark says with a smile.   
"It's true though. And you're right. The songwriting's given me the courage to say it. I've always felt it, I've just never been able to say it."   
"Well, thanks. You're my best friend, you know that right?"   
"Of course I do, you dork!" I rustle his hair like a protective older brother.   
"Oh, thanks!"   
"Mark, I have to tell you something," I say. I'm surprised I'm so nervous about this, but I am. It came up quick and I've been putting off telling him for much longer than I should have.   
"What's that?"   
"I'm going to be leaving again." His face falls and he looks away. "My label thinks it would be a good idea if I do a promotional tour for the CD. I'll be leaving once it's finished, which is going to be really soon. I want to do it, Mark, and I'm going to. I know it upsets you but I can't not do this." He turns back to me, a massive grin on his face, his eyes bright.   
"You're damn right you have to do it!"   
"So you don't mind I'm leaving?" I ask stupidly.   
"Roger, I want you to make it more than anything in this world. You have what it takes. Go show the world!" I grin and know that that is exactly what I have to do. Show the world. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
  
Roger's been gone. He's been touring the east coast for the past month. I miss him a lot, but I'm so glad that he's able to do this. His album came out right before the tour started, and it's selling pretty well for what it is. I'm really proud of him.   
"Mark, are you almost ready?" Maureen asks me.   
"Yup, just let me comb my hair!" I call. She laughs, knowing that the occasion must be special for me to actual let a comb touch my head. I run it through my mess of blond and splash a little water on it. "Ok, all set!"   
"About time! And they say women take too long getting ready!" Joanne exclaims. She and Maureen are dressed nicely, as is Collins. I really tend to doubt people dress this nicely for CBGB's.   
"Yeah, yeah, let's go. I don't want to be late," I say, walking out the door. We start walking briskly down Avenue B. I'm excited. I'm psyched.   
"Mark, he's not going to start without us! You can slow down a little!" Maureen calls. She's power walking to keep up with me, her entire body moving.   
"I know, I just want to get there!" I exclaim. I notice I feel a little nervous, if just because I haven't seen Roger on a stage in at least a year. I can't wait to hear those new songs coming from his mouth, his hands strumming the guitar.   
The place is pretty full when we walk in the door. A small stage is set up toward the back, and I recognize Roger's acoustic resting up against an amp.   
"Is Roger having any backup people?" Maureen asks.   
"Nope, just Roge and a guitar," I say, grabbing a table close to the stage.   
"Wow…sexy…" Maureen says. Roger walks out nonchalantly and sits on the stool in front of the microphone.   
"Hey…I'm Roger. Some of you may know me from my earlier days, when I used to jump around like a fuckin' idiot. Not gonna happen today. I'm older and much more mellow," he grins and looks down as the audience laughs. "So, yeah, this song is called 'Rhyme and Reason', and it's my favorite." He starts the amazing guitar to the song, and his voice is pouring out of him. I can't help but watch him in awe. He looks so peaceful, so happy with what he's doing and it's hard for me to remember the last time I saw him look so good. He's wearing the same black leather pants he used to wear, but instead of a tank top, he's wearing a black turtleneck sweater. I half expect him to bring out the bongos and do some beat poetry.   
"A lot of these songs are about my girlfriend…" Roger says after a few songs. "Ex-girlfriend, I should say. Well, maybe not. Anyway, she died. And that time was really tough for me because I didn't know if I wanted to record and play all these songs about her and lose the meaning of what she was to me. But my best friends, especially Mark, they made me see that I can't lose Mimi through these songs. I can just share how wonderful she is. So, this next song I wrote after a fight we had. We had a lot of trust issues, and they were really painful, but I wrote this song to prove to her that I would never cheat on her and that I really trusted her. I just wish she could have heard it." Roger starts to strum an unfamiliar melody on his guitar, softly. I realize I've never heard this song before. He starts to sing, his voice soft and gentle. 

_ "Go and do what you want,_   
_I know that you have the need._   
_You know that I'll wait, as long as it takes,_   
_And you'll never make me, you'll never make me, you'll never make me cry._   
_Now, I may not mean everything, but I'm happy to have your love._   
_And don't worry baby, I'll be alright._   
_ And I'll never make you, I'll never make you, I'll never make you cry._   
_So go and do what you want_   
_I know that you have the need_   
_And don't worry baby_   
_I'll be alright_   
_You'll never make me_   
_You'll never make me…."_

Roger's voice cracks and I see the tears start to fall down his face. "You'll never make me cry…" he whispers.   



	5. Making It

youreyes5 "So, Roger, we're thinking of a commercial release," Eric says to me. I glance at him with wide eyes.   
"It's not cool to kid me, Eric," I say.   
"No joke. Your tour went over really well, and you sold a lot of albums at the gigs. And at your last NYC gig, there was a representative from Arista and he really liked your songs. And your personality, and your look and basically everything about you."   
"You're fuckin' kidding me," I say calmly.   
"Do I look like I'm messing around here, Roger?" Eric asks. Well, no, but does he ever? "He's going to be here in an hour. He's going to talk to you about some contracts, maybe an advance. Some more shows. Possibly a single and music video. He'll hook you up with an agent from the company to help you out with anything you're not sure about. They might want to use a few new songs…"   
"Eric, shut the hell up and let me think!" I shout over him. He looks at me in shock. "You couldn't tell me this in advance?"   
"Well, I didn't want you to get nervous," he says quietly.   
"That, or you don't want to lose me?" I ask.   
"Roger, I love having you, but we are getting a lot of money from them if you sign," Eric says.   
"You mean they really want me?"   
"They really want you." I feel a grin creep up over my face, so big it hurts. Before I know it, I'm jumping up and down. Eric is smiling like an idiot at me. And suddenly I have the idea that maybe, just maybe, I'm going to make it.   


The footsteps on the stairs are quick and light. The door bangs up and Roger's standing there, looking at if he just won a million bucks. He runs over to me, pulls me up and gives me a bear hug.   
"Uh, Roge? What happened?" I ask, my voice muffled by his tight embrace.   
"I just…I want to thank you Mark, for pushing me into this. For giving me the courage to get past Mimi and do this and…"   
"Roger! Explain!"   
"I just signed with Arista Records," he whispers. I stare at him. His eyes are shining with excitement, I'm not sure I've ever seen him this happy.   
"Arista? Arista, like, Whitney Houston? Arista like the Grateful Dead?"   
"That would be the one," Roger says calmly.   
"OH MY GOD!" I shriek. "Roger, that is so amazing! I knew you could do it, I KNEW you could!" He sits down and smiles at me. "Hold on, let me get my camera…you look so unbearably sexy right now, I need to film this."   
"Sexy? Mark, did you just call me sexy?" he calls as I run into my room.   
"Oh, don't act like you're surprised…" I say, grabbing the camera. "You are going to be attacked by the girls. You know you're sexy."   
"I am, aren't I?" he says, thoughtfully running his hands over his goatee, then through his bleached hair. It's longer than it used to be, all the more to his advantage. He cracks up, laughing so hard he can't sit up straight. "Look, sit down, we need to talk."   
"What about?" I ask.   
"All of this and what it means," he says.   
"I know what it means. Money, fame, success, traveling," I list off.   
"No, Mark, stop being so selfless for once in your life and think about the chances you will have." He's looking at me with that goofy smile on his face. That one he used to get whenever he liked one of my films. What is he talking about?   
"What chances will I have from your record deal?"   
"I was talking to the executive guy. They're going to want a music video for my first single. And I've been thinking about it, and thinking about it, and I want it to be 'Your Eyes'…"   
"I thought you didn't want to do that?" I say.   
"…but it's not going to be the same song I sang at the funeral. It's going to be sweet and touching, but it's not going to be the same. Because in essence, that song is not formatted to be a single. So, I'm going to rework it a little, add some lyrics, maybe make it a little more radio friendly, and it's going to be my first single. I might even write a whole new song to go along with what I already have, I'll have to see. It is still going to be this amazingly, touching tribute to Mimi, but the people who hear it are going to know that. And that's where you come in."   
"How?"   
"You're going to shoot the video. I'm not going to tell you what to do or how. I just want you to use any old footage you have of her and of me and her. Maybe we can cut to me singing the song here in the loft, empty on a stool. You know that episode of "Full House"? Where Jesse has a video for 'Forever'?" Jesus Christ, when did he start watching "Full House"? "I want it to look like that. It's going to be so much her, the song is going to be so different, but it's still going to be her. It can never NOT be her." He looks at me. "So, will you do it?" I think about this for a second. My best friend, who just signed to a major record deal, wants me to make his music video. It can be all I need. It can be everything. Not only that, but it can bring us even closer than we've become since all of this started. I look at him and I grin.   
"Of course I will!"   



	6. Perspectives

youreyes6 It's weird how quickly my perspective changed. When it was just me and Eric in the room, and he wanted me to give "Your Eyes" edge, it seemed completely impossible. That song is so completely Mimi to me. And it wasn't even so much that he wanted me to change the song. It was much more the fact that he didn't know what it meant, he had no clue what was behind it. And that was why I was so dead set against changing it.   
The idea started to sink in though. All those times Mark told me that this record deal would be a way to immortalize Mimi. I remembered that outburst I had about the record deal meaning nothing with Mimi gone, but now it was the complete opposite. The record deal was the way for Mimi to mean something forever. And as I thought about it, the importance of her being the reason behind my success became a huge goal. I still wasn't completely for changing the song. But there had to be some sort of way I could rework it, maybe write something new to go with it.   
Then one night I was in the shower. The hot water was long gone. I was just standing there, getting really cold, when it came to me. I knew what I had to do. The lyrics were materializing in my head, the guitar was resounding in my ears. For the first few weeks, the excitement of the possibility of making it was taking me over. Logic left my brain. The fact that my album may not sell, that no one would really like me did not even occur to me. Now that everything had started to sink in, this song was all that was important. This absolutely wonderful tribute to the love of my life. And I knew that it was what I needed. 

I never thought that my life would be so changed by Roger's sudden success. I used to think he didn't need me because he would withdraw. He wouldn't talk to me, he wouldn't smile or laugh or play the guitar, he wouldn't do much of anything but breath and it often seemed that even that was an effort. It used to hurt because I knew he needed someone, that he was just being stubborn. And that was why I would dedicate every waking moment to his well-being. That's why I would mother him, worry about him, worry about what he thought about me. But that was then.   
I have to admit that I was pretty shocked when he asked me to create the video for the song. It's not even that I never thought he would. It just makes me so happy to know he finally needs me. He knows that I'm the only person who could possibly understand what this piece of creation means. I never quite knew why it was so important that Roger needed me. I think because I need him so much. I've never really been that secure of a person. I was always the one with a couple of friends who I thought hung out with me because they felt bad. Roger was the first friend I had who actually wanted to be there. Neither of us had the best of home lives. We were able to confide in each other. He'd tell me how his father was upset because they couldn't afford a bigger house for five kids, how his mom would cry because the food stamps weren't enough this month. I'd tell him how my A's weren't good enough, my baseball stats weren't high enough and my sisters were better. He envied our money, I envied his love. We'd take him on trips to Six Flags, despite the fact that my mother didn't completely approve of my friendship with him. He'd invite me over for dinner, where you didn't have to eat what you didn't like and you could talk about anything you wanted because there was usually someone younger than you throwing peas at the wall.   
I watched him as he started to change. I accepted it. He was free now, away from the restraints that being poor put on him all his childhood. I used to envy the closeness of his family, but he always seem to want to get away from it. It was hard for me though, because I wasn't changing. And that was when I started fearing that he wouldn't need me anymore. Even though we got the loft together, found Collins and Benny to split the rent and still hung out, he had new friends. Bandmates, druggies, girls. I was the last person he needed in his new life. But I still needed him so badly. And then the thing with April happened and I was all he had. The bandmates, the druggies, the girls. They all gave up on him. And I finally knew he needed me, but he wouldn't give me that much because he shut me off.   
I analyze too much, that's my problem. If I just let things happen without wondering why and how, I'd be a lot better off. But I don't know if Roger knows how much it means to me that he asked me to do this. I wanted to hug him right then, I was so excited. I know I can make this the best it can be. I have so much film of the two of them. Kissing, hugging, cuddling on the couch. I have footage during fights, after fights. Moments when they're alone. I know exactly what I want to do to make this work and I can't wait to hear the song I'll put it to. And I can't help but love the fact that Roger's different now. He's so much more open, so much more peaceful and free. He's happy all the time. I don't think I have ever known Roger when he was happy all the time and it's the most wonderful thing. For the first time in a long time, Roger is like my best friend. And that is worth a lot more than any record deal.   


Ok, so, yeah, this part is a little corny and cheesy. Kinda like cheetos. Anyway, the video is coming up! I realize I've been neglecting the other three characters, so I'm going to try to work them in to the next part. Probably just one more chapter, maybe two. Please review!   



End file.
